A Deadly Draught (19 page)

“I’ll just sit here until you’re ready to talk.” I tried to settle back in my seat to wait her out, but as authentic as these old metal-backed chairs were, they were not comfortable. I hoped her stubbornness would be short lived.

Jake seemed to be weighing his options. He could stay for an inevitable outpouring of hormone-driven female emotions or use his job as an excuse to leave. He chose the latter, the coward.

“Uh, I think I’ll just mosey along and let you two ladies work this thing out for yourselves. I have a job to do here.”

Sally jumped from her chair and grabbed Jake by his shirtfront. “If you’re going to see Michael, don’t you dare tell him about the baby, hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With Sally clinging to his shirtfront, the two of them reminded me of a veterinarian with an uncooperative cat climbing his lab coat. “I’ll keep it to myself, but I do have to ask him about that night.”

She wasn’t finished with him. “That’s all you ask him about. No questioning him about me.” Her little freckled fist let go of his shirt, leaving a wrinkled pucker on the otherwise pressed material.

“Just calm down. As much of an insensitive jerk as he can be, Jake will honor your wishes on this one, right?”

As quickly as she had become a tigress with Jake, now Sally deflated like a Mylar balloon the day after a birthday party and sank back down into her chair.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I’ll be right back.” I rushed Sally off to the restroom in the back of the store. I closed the door on her, because I wanted to give her some privacy and because my stomach behaves sympathetically when others are sick. I retreated to Jake’s side.

“I’m an insensitive jerk?”

“Sometimes. All men are, but I know you’ll handle this one with respect for Sally’s privacy.” I patted him on the back and shoved him toward the door. “Go, get ‘em, fella.” I locked the door after him and turned toward the bathroom. I could hear sounds of, well, I could hear sounds coming from there. Sally emerged, her face resembling a spaghetti squash greased with olive oil.

“Yuk. Is this the way it’s going to be for the entire pregnancy?”

“You’re keeping the baby?”

“Of course, I’m keeping the baby, and before you say anything, I know it won’t get Michael back. I haven’t even decided if I’ll tell him about it.”

*

I’m not the only one who has it bad for Michael,
I thought to myself as I drove home after getting Sally settled on her couch in front of the television. She was eating lemon squares and drinking a cola, a combination that seemed downright normal given the stories I’d heard about the eating habits of pregnant women.

I opened the truck window to clear my mind. The woodsy smells of decaying logs and blooming dogwoods, lilacs, lily of the valley, and field grasses rushed at me through the evening air. Not a cloud in the sky to produce a sunset worthy of a painter’s brush. The sun was there, and then it was gone. Darkness settled into the valley.

Much as I knew how difficult the months and years ahead would be for Sally, raising a child alone, I anticipated the joyous times in store for the new mother, and I hoped she would want me to share in them. Then there was the issue of Michael. She had to tell him about the baby, and she knew that, but what would his reaction be? Happiness? Anger? The old Michael would act in a responsible manner. Even if they didn’t marry, Michael would help out financially and in any other way he could. The new Michael? Well, neither Sally nor I could predict.

I was running a nursery rhyme through my head.
Hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse …”

I steered past my driveway and took the next left into Michael’s. My curious nature got the better of me. What tale was Michael spinning for Jake about that night? I was dying to know—oops, bad choice of words—I needed to know, even though I suspected neither Michael nor Jake would welcome my visit.

Either Claudia was happy to see me, or she anticipated that whoever was at the door would be far easier to confront than the possibility her son was a murderer.

“Your friend has some insane story about Michael and the night of the murder. Maybe you can set him straight.” I noted that she was holding her usual beverage with a grip that would have given a boa constrictor a run for its money.

She led me through the great room, which was lit only by occasional flashes of heat lightning brightening the expanse through the skylights above.

“It better not rain tonight. Those skylights leak.” She took a sip of her drink and beckoned me to follow her into the study. “Of course,” she turned toward me as she held the door open, “rain would be good for business, our business.” Her eyes, usually such a peaceful blue, now flashed with anger. “How long are you going to hold us hostage to your wells?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the scene in front of me swept the words away. Jake and Michael were standing toe-to-toe. Jake held himself forward, his face expressionless. I could see the side of Michael’s cheek twitch as if he were grinding away at some tough meat.

“Who said they saw me come back here that night? Someone’s lying to you.”

Both men ignored Claudia and me as we came into the room, but I knew Jake was aware of my presence by the deepening of his frown.

“Someone sure is lying, and I think it’s you,” Jake said.

Claudia positioned herself between the two men. “You like to come here and accuse this family of murder. Don’t you have any other suspects, or are you trying to make a name for yourself by taking on one of the most prominent families in this county? Don’t you realize that we’re still mourning the death of my husband and Michael’s father.? Didn’t that school teach you anything about respect for others?”
Quite an outburst from Claudia,
I thought. She should be making crazy quilts, considering her shifts in mood and behavior.

“I … “ Jake began.

Claudia reached back to steady herself on the chair behind her. I don’t think any of us, including her, knew what she was about to say next. “I never offered anyone coffee, did I?”

I sucked in a quick breath and scrutinized her face.
What the …?

“Hera, could you see my mother to her room? I think she’s not feeling well.” Michael’s concern for his mother didn’t alter the focus of his attention on Jake, nor did Jake take his eyes off Michael’s face.

“Never mind, Dear. I’ll just finish up a little quilting I left earlier this evening.” She made jerky progress toward the door and stopped. Then, seeming to gather her strength, she walked from the room with a familiar ladylike step.

“Go check on her, would you?” Before I could point out to Michael that I was not his mother’s caretaker, Jake interrupted.

“I’d like her to stay. Since she was the one who found your father’s body, and you seem to be the person who was in that brew barn, Hera might want to know whether you intended her harm also.”

“What? I’d never harm Hera. Never.”

“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but would you not talk about me as if I wasn’t here?” My words penetrated the haze of male testosterone surrounding them, and the two men separated.

“Let’s all sit down, shall we? There’s got to be a way to settle all of this.” Michael gestured toward the chairs. I caught him sneaking a peek at his watch as he settled himself behind the desk.

I was seething about Sally’s pregnancy, but I felt honor-bound by my promise to keep her secret. Still, I couldn’t resist goading Michael about his bacchanal-like evenings of lust. “So which woman gets the distinction of alibi for the night?”

“I’ve told both of you again and again that Cory and I spent the night together.”

“She seems to be confused about the particulars of the evening,” Jake said, “and I have someone who will testify that you drove home here around nine or so.”

Michael remained silent for a moment, then seemed to reach some conclusion.

“Fine. Go talk to Francine Ortiz. We had a business meeting that night. She can tell you what time I arrived and what time I left.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why bring Cory into this?” I had to interrupt. I found it difficult to hear all of the ways Michael was using women.

Michael eyed me and for a moment, I thought I saw sadness in his eyes, but he confronted Jake with a challenging look. “Is that the question you wanted to ask, Officer Ryan? Or did you have something more pressing on your mind, like why your witness lied to you about my being here? Maybe your witness isn’t very reliable. Maybe she or he has something at stake they’re not telling you.”

Did Michael know Sally was following him that night?

*

“You’re like walking through poison ivy, easygoing until you get home and start itching. Why did you show up when you knew I was questioning a prime suspect? You’re not a cop, you know.”

“No, but I am your unofficial partner, and my presence made Michael say a lot more than he would have if just you were there.” We were standing in the Ramford drive beside our vehicles after Michael dismissed us from the house. It was after ten at night, and heat and humidity still saturated the air.

Jake stepped forward and reached his hand toward my face. I held my ground.

“You’ve got a bead of sweat that’s going to drip off the end of your nose. Not very ladylike.” His finger tapped my nose. Then, as if realizing how inappropriate his gesture was to our conversation, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “So how was our mother doing when you left?”

“Eating her way through the refrigerator.”

“Do you think she’ll tell Michael soon?”

“Drop it. Did you believe Michael when he said he didn’t want to tell anyone about his meeting with Francine because of Marsh’s jealousy? What’s Marsh got to be jealous of, if the two of them were only having a business meeting? That doesn’t sound like Michael, to be solicitous of another man’s feelings.”

Jake let out a bark of a laugh. “You finally seem to be coming around to seeing Michael for what he really is, a very self-absorbed man.” He held up his arm as if to ward off the blow he expected from me.

“No, I get it now. He’s not what I thought he was, but that’s because of his father’s death.”

“Oh, lord, here we go again. Excuses for the suffering Michael. You ought to ask Sally how much latitude she’s willing to give Michael just now.”

I was ignoring Jake’s comments and thinking instead of Sally’s assertion that Michael returned to the house after he met with her. She seemed so certain of that, and I was sure she wasn’t lying.

“Let’s try something, okay?” I jumped in my truck and signaled Jake to join me. “Leave your car here. We’ll be back in a jiff.”

I drove out of the drive, up the road toward town, and down the hill just before Michael’s driveway. I executed a quick U-turn, taking Jake by surprise. He slid across the seat toward me, and when I stomped on the brake, he pitched forward.

“Should have put on your seat belt. It’s the law.”

Jake scowled at me.

I looked down the road, then got out. “Don’t you see it?”

“No. What?” We stood in front of my truck, its headlights casting our shadows ahead of us into the light streaming down the road.

“From both inside the truck and outside, you can’t see whether a vehicle turns into the Ramford driveway or continues down the road. There’s a dip beyond the drive so that any car proceeding on would be hidden from anyone looking for it from here.”

Jake got back into the truck, stared at the distance for a time, and got back out again.

“You’re right.”

“Oh, goody. This is great. Sally was mistaken. She merely thought Michael turned into the drive. You know what lies beyond the drive and down that road?” I was about to answer my own question, but Jake interrupted me.

“Francine Ortiz’s place.”

“Both Michael and Sally were telling the truth, then. I knew it.”

“Time for me to visit Mrs. Ortiz.”

“I want to come along, too.”

Jake walked around the truck to face me and put his hands on my shoulders, leaning his head toward mine. I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he touched his finger to my nose again. “Damn hot, isn’t it?”

Waves of heat lifted off the asphalt and enveloped me, but they couldn’t match the warmth I felt with his body so close.

“So, let’s take my truck home, and I can ride to Francine’s with you.”

He didn’t argue. I pulled into my drive and had to slam on the brakes in order not to hit the sixties VW van sitting there. My headlights reflected off a California plate, and I thought I had been transported back to the days of Woodstock, way before my time. The illusion was reinforced by the appearance of a head adorned with long auburn hair and a full beard. The man wearing the growth smiled at me, a grin I had seen far too seldom in our childhood, because he had little reason to use it then.

“Ronald?” I saw Jake’s headlights hit the base of the drive. “Quick. Pull the van around behind the barn. The cops’ll be here in a second,” I said.

Nineteen

“I don’t run from the cops now, Hera. I’m not a rebellious teenager getting into trouble anymore.” His upstate New York accent was gone, his speech softened by the warmth of the west coast.

“Ronnie.” I stepped forward. He enveloped me in deeply tanned arms and kissed me. Jake’s headlights as he came up the drive illuminated our embrace.

He was wearing his cop look when he approached us, and his words said his visit had become official.

“Let me guess. This must be the prodigal son, come home to claim his share of the estate.”
Good heavens. Not another wave of testosterone tonight.
Jake’s mouth was set in a tight line that would surely snap if he stretched it any more tautly.

Ronald ignored Jake’s comment, his arms still around me, his eyes as brown as chocolate jellybeans. “You’ve filled out a bit, I see. Bet the guys don’t call you Skinny Minnie now.”

I wanted to tell him he was right.
Nobody except for Michael.
He liked tall blondes, but he preferred them to look more like a Playboy centerfold. My physique ran more to a center for a women’s basketball team. No, I guess I wasn’t over him yet.